


Between the Dunes

by lostchildofthenewworld



Series: Continuum [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen Live, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Elia Martell Deserves Better, Elia Martell Lives, Elia Martell-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, no beta we die like Rhaegar, the things we do for love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27927163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostchildofthenewworld/pseuds/lostchildofthenewworld
Summary: Getting as much help from the dead as she does from the living, Elia wonders about the lengths she's willing to go for her children. But just because the dead are silent, does not mean they aren't listening.
Relationships: Elia Martell & Aegon VI Targaryen (Son of Elia), Elia Martell & Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia), Jaime Lannister & Elia Martell, Jaime Lannister/ Elia Martell
Series: Continuum [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029861
Comments: 18
Kudos: 61
Collections: Southern Renaissance (Dorne Renaissance)





	Between the Dunes

**Author's Note:**

> "That's woman she's a dangerous soul  
> Holy like she covered in that angel dust."  
> Woman, by Diana Gordon

Elia would never know the true response that Lord Tywin had when he received her and Jaime’s letter and read it, but the raven that they had received (not even written by Maester Pycelle’s hand) had a note of finality in it because all Lord Tywin wrote was “so be it.”

Oh, Elia was sure that the Old Lion had much more to say, because with how limited the space was on parchment, he settled for a curt reply. Jaime had seemed most surprised but not Elia because if she was already thinking this, if her brothers were already thinking this, then why not Lord Tywin also? She knows that Tywin Lannister will do everything in his power in order to secure his house, in order to secure the Iron Throne because who could forget that the man stood next to and behind the Iron Throne for near twenty years, that he even tried to make his daughter queen also before Aerys rejected him.

But she imagines that it might be tempting, almost too tempting like the feline that Tywin is to not want to take the chance, to not want to have a taste of what Elia is offering by marrying herself to Jaime and thus tying her children to House Lannister with Jaime becoming their step-father and thus by extension Tywin being their grandfather. In some ways Tywin Lannister was a complicated man but in other ways – he was quite easy to read.

After they had received the raven, Jaime had taken leave as he would be returning to Casterly Rock to begin preparations for their wedding. They have not announced the news of their most joyous union, but Elia has been hard at work since the Jaime’s departure at spreading words, so much like Varys use to.

Elia had recalled some of her former ladies-in-waiting as she needed them to help her, though she was lofted to admit it, though this time she only kept a few. Her cousin, Myria Gargalen, Janessa Blackmont and she had taken a new one, Neveah Yronwood an old childhood friend that she had lost contact to once she married. She wanted to help soothe the relationship between House Nymeros Martell and House Yronwood and she had been glad that Neveah had been receptive towards her, no matter Oberyn’s transgression against her father.

Elia wanted Ashara, wanted her dear friend with her but she could not bring herself to do so, not now at least because they both needed time from one another. Ashara with the pain of losing her babe, of losing her lover and the severance of her relationship with her elder brother; while Elia had to deal with lingering doubts that maybe Ashara knew all along about Rhaegar and Lyanna, because while surely Rhaegar confides in Arthur, Elia had known that Arthur confided in his sister.

She did not know what to believe and it pained her to doubt her friend, but space was needed for healing to begin and though they wrote to each other, it would take a long while for true peace to be had between them. Because if Elia had some doubts about Ashara, then she knew her friend had some against her, possibly wondering why Elia did not free Brandon Stark from the cells but Elia could not even do that even if she wanted to.

“Matters not, not now,” she murmured under her breath as she dipped her quill in ink, signing her name before sending off a letter to Ser Baelor Hightower and his new wife, the Lady Rhonda.

Ser Baelor would have been a good husband, this she knows but unfortunately the gods have others plans and like she told Oberyn those weeks ago, she cannot lament on her losses – she must keep moving forward.

“Myria take this to Maester Caleoette and have him send this off,” she held out the rolled parchment that had been tied with a red string for her cousin to take ahold of.

“Of course, I shall return once I am done,” her cousin disappeared in a flash of skirts and bare skin, as Elia was left alone to her thoughts.

There were times where she felt oddly out of place, being back home in Sunspear was difficult in some ways more than others, as she had passed through the dunes in between the Water Gardens and Sunspear, trepidation had filled her. Everyone had seen her and her children and though she knew that none would dare whisper and say “bastards” here in Dorne, she knew outside of her beloved kingdom, others would.

Rhaenys had been happy to play with her cousins, especially the quiet Sarella as her daughter was not as loud as Nymeria or Tyene and not as old as Obara and Arianne. But Elia feared that once again the change would be too much for her daughter to go through but even though she is afraid as she knows that she would not and never leave her children behind.

Her hands rub softly at her temples in order to starve off the headache she feels coming, because there is so much to be done, so much to do and it feels as though she does not have enough time. Not enough time to accomplish all that she needs to, and once again she feels a hatred for Rhaegar because her life was already burdened but now it seems doubly so for reasons not of her own doing.

She rises from her seat and leaves her solar, heading down to the nursery as she watches her gaggle of nieces and daughter, as they play with one another her face softens at the sight. Her daughter laying on her stomach, with Balerion curled up next to her as she sits with Sarella as they listen to Obara tell some tale about Oberyn – no doubt as exaggerated as her younger brother is. They are all huddled together, hanging on to every word Obara says and just for a moment Elia can imagine herself as a child once more in these very rooms as she listened to her Uncle Lewyn and father speak about the fights and skirmishes they had been in their youth.

Elia darts out of the room before they can see her, she leaves them to their own world of tall tales as she opens the door to Aegon’s nursery, walking softly to stand over her son’s crib. She coos softly as she picks him up and he stares at her with amethysts orbs wide eyed, squirming when she pressed kisses to his chubby cheeks and forehead.

She walks around the room with him, singing softly in the language of the Rhoynar as she bounces him in her arms, wondering if she will be strong enough for the path laid out before her, before them.

“Mother can you hear us,

The winds are drifting away.

Red flowers bloom in the evening,

The sun sets on the day.

The moon rises in the east,

The waves become shallow in the west.

We call out for you in search of guidance in more,

The winds blow surely, upon these orange shores.”

Her son begins to grow fussy and so she sits down in the rocking chair in the corner before she settles her son against her and watches him with rapt attention as drinks to his heart content. Her hands gently stroke his silver curls, and she continues ponder idly if she is doing the wrong thing or if what she is doing is right.

Aegon’s tiny fists push against her chest as he feeds and there is great pride in her that allows her to do this, because when she had woken from her pain addled sleep when she birthed Rhaenys she had dismissed the wet nurses – her daughter would be fed by her and her alone, she kept the same ideology when she gave birth to Aegon.

_The things I do for them, what I will do for them._

Loving her children when they had been born was easy, as easy as drawing breath, but she did not realize the depth and magnitude she loved them until she withstood so much torment and abuse from Aerys. That she would willingly suffer emotionally and mentally if it meant safeguarding them, she withstood it all and would do so again in a heartbeat.

The laughter that traveled down into the room from her nieces and daughter signaled the end of Egg’s nursing as she sat him upright and rubbed his back, listening to his burp as his eyes closed droopily as he yawned before settling in her arms once again. She fixed her gown before placing her son back into his crib, once again curling her fingers around his curls as she hummed under her breath to soothe him back to sleep.

She stood over his crib for a moment longer, leaving as quickly as she had come once her son had drifted off into his sleep and dreams. Elia felt idle, her feet moving her once again as she walked down the long corridors until she entered the Sandship, taking the winding stairs down, passing flame torches that were always lit as she walked down into the crypts of her ancestors.

She passed faces that she has seen painted in Sunspear’s throne room since she was a child, the quietness of the crypts did not disturb her because the soft trickle of water flowing through acted as music for her. A rhyme that had no reason as she continued her walk, passing the faces of all her foremothers and forefathers before she arrived at the room at the end with large bronze doors barring entrance.

Her hands pushed against the door and she was met with the shrine, a shrine that has been here for as long as she could remember, when her mother had brought her down here when she was old enough to understand the rites that were given to their dead and how to honor them. She retraced her steps and took a small flame for herself in order to light the candles that adorned the altar, watching as the small room began to illuminate and her shadow was casted against stone wall.

Her shawl covered her head, and she bowed her head when she kneeled, her hands clasped in front of her, as her lips began moving, her words flowing easily in the sanctum of her ancestors. The fear she felt creeping upon her earlier had been dispelled as she spoke her worries out loud, hoping that the spirits of her ancestors would heed her cry and give her direction, to tell her that she was right in her course of action.

“I beseech you as your most humble daughter, I ask for your advice and counsel – please guide me,” her eyes drifted closed as she continued to pray and voice her grievances.

There was so much that Elia wanted to do, but she was limited in her choices because she could not just march to King’s Landing and demand Rhaegar to do right by her, for he was man, and his mind was already made no matter the consequences that it had on her and her children. Her children had been born under a prophecy, shrouded in the idea that they would be heralded heroes when all she wanted was for them to grow up safe and happy, not fight against forces unknown because a prince thought them to be more than what they were – just babes, _her_ babes.

Elia had thought that Rhaegar would see the fallacy in such plans, that he would see the unhappiness and pain in his mother’s eyes and very soul and be deterred but she had been wrong. _I was very wrong and naïve to hope I could change him, to make him see reason._ In the end, it did not matter at all and she asked her ancestors, she asked Mother Rhoyne what all _this_ was for, when she barely had anything to show for the sacrifices that had been made. 

Her daughter who had night terrors on some nights and Elia would pull her into her arms and go back to her own bed and curl around her daughter like a snake clutching onto her egg in the hopes of keeping it warm and safe. Aegon who shared the same hair and eyes as a man long gone from her favor and she hoped one day her mind, and how was she to answer the questions he would later have about his sire when he realizes that he does not look like Jaime? That while Rhaenys is her miniature form, the same cannot be said for Aegon outside of the shape of his almond eyes and fullness of his lips.

“Please tell me I am right, that everything will work out,” because she desperately needs this to be true, she wants, she _needs_ it to be alright because so much has happened and she does not want it to be in vain, to not have so many sacrifices done in her name, in her children’s names and it not come to fruition.

The water that is flowing throughout the crypts is soothing as she continues to pray, as a child she wondered why the water flowed through the crypts and her mother had told her it was so that their ancestors could travel freely and do the bidding in order to ensure their family. Her heart throbbed at the idea of her uncle dying on the Trident, where dirt, blood and water formed into one and as she prayed, she hoped fervently that he dwelled in peace in the afterlife. That his soul had journeyed down the Trident and was carried out to sea where Mother Rhoyne and the Old Men of the River were waiting to collect not just him but other Dornishmen that he had led into battle and allowed them peace in their death.

As her prayers came to a close her knees creaked as she rosed from the cushioned pillow, she stared at the altar once more, before turning her back and leaving the room and the crypt altogether, the shadows dancing on the walls as she retreated from her ancestors’ gazes.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is: lostchildofthenewworld if you want to engage with me outside of ao3. Feel free to ask me questions and send messages! I love interacting with you all.


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